


it tickles;

by olleetherogue



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Body Paint, F/F, Fluff, Painting, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olleetherogue/pseuds/olleetherogue
Summary: beau was lying on her stomach, semi-patiently, hands crossed above her head, torso naked on the sheets; she was fighting laughter (she was ticklish). atop her, straddling her hips, was jester: chatty, excited they finally got to do this, and appearing blissfully unaware. her tail was swaying softly. the sunlight was on both of them.---jester is painting on beau's body! ohohoh
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 6
Kudos: 121





	it tickles;

beau was lying on her stomach, semi-patiently, hands crossed above her head, torso naked on the sheets; she was fighting laughter (she was ticklish). atop her, straddling her hips, was jester: chatty, excited they finally got to do this, and appearing blissfully unaware. her tail was swaying softly. the sunlight was on both of them. 

\- 

“ what are you drawing anyway?”

“ you know I cant tell you! it’s a seecret. i will show you when im done.”

beau wanted to ask how exactly, but instead she just sighed in the pillow, hiding a smile and keeping it to herself.

\- 

"hey beau?" the strokes were becoming lighter, thinner. more distracted. and then stopping. the body was shifting on her, slightly dragging beau's body with her hands towards the light. "i never noticed you had freckles on your back! but only, like, here," she traced her finger, there. “and you can barely see them.”

beau could easily envision the expression on her face, puzzled as she was figuring out a puzzle. 

“they are not freckles. it’s just, like, moles.”

“yeah, yeah but still!! they're very pretty!"

there was a type of pleasant torture, the one beau tried not to dip her toes in too often but ended up nearly drowning every now and then; the one when she could not master the swimming even after sailing the seas for moons; the kind that comes with the soul-hugging pain, but also bitter pleasure, of having her friend, the girl she happened to have feelings for, touch her like that, but also _ not  _ quite  _ like that _ . the ambiguity, the uncertainty of what it meant (did it mean anything?), if it was amplified by the bats in her stomach, feeding on all the darkness in the empty space and birthing light, or if jester had any idea. or, or. why did she ask  _ her  _ specifically, to be her canvas?

beau stayed silent and tried to stay still; she took a breath. two. three.

jester's fingers flew from a spot below beau's shoulder blade, to the place above it, to the skin-hidden bone of her shoulder, to the backside of her right arm. she twisted beau's shoulder a bit.

"beau! how many do you have?" jester's voice was demanding with curiosity. "turn around?"

beau sneaked a peak, and the brightness of her eyes made her smile wider into the crook of her arm. she gave some sort of shrug.

"won't it fuck up the painting?"

"oh yeah, right. let's wait a bit".

and so, they waited. 

the weight of jester on her - her body languid, still present, now growing heavy - was anchoring her to the present, while her mind was drifting into hypothetical futures. she felt jester’s attempts to get more comfortable, sliding off her butt, a-cutely so. 

"beau," jester put her thumb on the tight spot on beau's back, a bit to the right of her spine. "you are, like,  _ really _ tense."

"mm?"

“yeah, you’ve got this knot.”

jesters fingers were circling around the spot, waiting. when beau remained silent (what was she supposed to say? what  _ could  _ she say? no words forming on her mind, even less so on her tongue), jester started putting pressure on it, at first just at that spot, then adding her other hand, then starting going in symmetrical motions. pattern, even; hands wandering between shoulder and spine and shoulder blades and the neck and the sides and the middle. jester was giving her a fucking massage. maybe beau let out a moan at some point, maybe she was dignified enough not to - either way, no witnesses in the room, just the two of them; the eyes of both of them closed, smiles on lips, and blood under cheeks running hotter than usual. 

hungry, thirsty, eager to drown (but would she be ready?), beau was only glad jester couldn't see her face, hidden in the pillows and under the dark hair. she was half-heartedly battling a tower of feelings, destined to fall if there was one more stone atop it. she was carrying another stone to add to the long pile, just to see - what if it stays? 

and _ oh,  _ did beau have a thing for jester’s hands on her. the only time they did something resembling  _ this _ , was when jester was painting in their bedroom, and beau plopped next to her to tell her about her day, only to find jester picking up her hand and putting it on her lap, turning the inside of the arm upwards, and drawing. beau was not a good canvas, with all the wriggling and laughing and jerking her hand away, sometimes on impulse, and sometimes on purpose - jester sent her disapproving glares each time. and yet. 

-

and yet. this time - this was different; it was planned - carefully scheduled. it was intentional. jester said she was practicing beforehand.

it was getting a little intense, with all the touching and straddling and hands on skin, and beau shifted a bit, adjusting herself, and then again, repeating the motion, suddenly itching. as she realised what she was doing, she stopped herself, and tried to stop jester before the hands on her got too out of, hands. 

"h-hey, its okay, jes. it's much better now. um, yeah thanks." 

"okay, okay," she was laughing a bit. beau felt (or imagined?) her looking away. 

“that was, nice. thanks.”

jester’s body on hers moved, distancing herself, just a touch, but remaining connected. beau was trying to unwind and collect herself. 

-

she didn’t get the chance to; they didn't stay silent for long. "hey beau, do you wanna dance?" she put her arms on beau’s hips, using them for support, and jumped off her. she was wearing a lilac dress - maybe it was a nightgown, maybe it was just  _ like that _ , and span around. to be fair, she looked very hot. the hair was on her shoulders, the dress hanging casually so, feet bare. 

“nah,” she tried to laugh, the sound hoarse in her neck. jester’s hands pleaded her upwards and to her. 

“while it dries up, you know?”

"there's no music-"

wrists swaying, fingers dancing, jester started humming, pointedly and not very melodically; but she was her mother's daughter, and beau was slightly in love, so. 

eyes rolling (she had some presentation to upkeep, didn't she?), beau rolled off the bed, still naked apart from her underwear and some layers of paint on her back and sides, and came to jester, hands going to her waist right away before she could talk herself out of it, air tight in her throat. jester put hers around her neck, readily, eagerly almost (a girl can dream, right?) and they started slowly swaying to the humm coming from in between them. 

beau could handle approximately twelve seconds of the eye contact they were maintaing, to keep herself under control before she blurted out something ridiculous about her, eyes or how close they were, or how she was really curious what she had painted, or; on the thirteenth second she put her cheek on jester’s forehead and turned away, looking at the wall instead. she felt incredibly awkward. 

being connected as they were, in most points of their bodies, changes in motion were felt far less subtly than they would be, had they been apart. which is how beau first suspected, then felt for sure by the movement of her head that jester’s eyes were travelling up and down her body. seconds later, it remained the same, and then some seconds after. beau’s cheek parted with jester’s forehead, and she looked down on her. jester’s eyes remained somewhere on the collarbone level, and then below, and up again. 

“god. are you checking me out?” she put her hands on jester’s shoulders, smiling cheekily. 

“no ! i mean-” jester’s eyes shot up, with an overall flustered expression on her face.

“wow, dude, you totally are!” she laughed harshly, hoping for teasing but getting a feeling she was landing more towards embarrassing herself. "like what you see?" she put on the douchiest of smirks. 

“i was just thinking - your freckles- moles are here, too. it could totally work really well with the painting on your back ! i just have to connect them, and i was trying to figure out how.” she kind of looked down again. 

“sure.” beau’s hands went back to jester’s waist, and around, grasping her wrist behind jester’s back. 

…

“but also, you’re totaaaally hot, beau!” jester’s eyes did that funny fluttery thing they did sometimes but beau couldn’t figure out the pattern for it; not yet. beau looked away. 

“oh shut up.”

-

they stopped dancing after a while, that is, when jester stopped humming and went to get her paints. 

“ok, wait there. i think i got it.”

beau remained there, arms crossed at her chest, hair on her shoulders, heart racing against the ribs. she felt tight in her skin, almost uncomfortable; she wanted to feel easy. 

jester took her brush and got to work, tickling her stomach - beau tried to look down, focus on that; she saw something blue, but then was shushed away. 

she tried more sneakily next time. 

-

there came a point when jester had to uncross beau’s arms - she did so by taking her hand and smearing it with paint, both of them too focused, albeit on different things, to react. (jester's hair was falling out of place - she kept tugging it behind her ear, spreading blue paint on her face, the colour light on her skin. it always fell back on her shoulder, each time differently so; beau wondered if it tickled her, and if she should fix it  _ for  _ her next time. and when she didn't dare to - in between jester’s hands putting it back, time after time, she thought again,  _ maybe next time _ ).

she painted on her ribs, mixing paint with water, occasionally wiping mistakes with her thumb and trying again, fixated. now, if beau would try to look at the painting, she could; what she could not do, or even tried to, was to look away from jester. 

-

the soft sways of the brush on her neck made beau laugh and she caught jester’s elbow by accident - letting go the next second, still laughing. jester gave her one of the more devilish looks, saying nothing. when beau squirmed and pinched the brush between her jaw and shoulder, jester put her index finger under beau’s chin and forced it up, keeping it in place. beau stopped laughing. 

“don’t move, okay?”

she nodded, minutely. but then twitched again when the brush tickled her skin. jester flicked her on the shoulder, and then put her hand around beau’s jaw, fingers cupping her cheek, thumb on the other side of the chin, holding her. when beau looked at jester’s lips, she found them slightly open, tongue running over her sharp fangs; her throat closed, and she looked away. 

beau felt a lot of things, some of which concerned the temperature of jester’s fingers on her skin (warm), the hotness of the situation (very hot), and the assessment of her palms (quite sweaty). she looked at her lips again; they were closed. 

in the end, it was helpful in that she was no longer twitching when the brush left paint on her skin. some time after she started noticing other things: the warm breath leaving jester’s nose and staying on her skin, growing hotter with each exhale; the determination in jester’s fingers; the fact that her own feet were stuck to the floor. she also realised that she was tired of standing at the same place, stiff and unmoving; beau shifted - she tried to do it minutely but she didn't manage to, apparently, because not later than 10 seconds after that, jester said, quietly: 

"it actually would be easier if you just lay down again." 

she didnt drop her hand from beau’s face, however. their eyes didn't break contact. neither of them moved.

until. 

jester's hand dropped, as did her eyes, and her thumb went to beau's neck, then her ribs, the touch of it - a ghost haunting her racing heart under, chasing her blood; she was sure jester would be able to feel the palpitations; and then to the lower back, tracing up with the backside of two fingers, softly. 

“it’s all dried up.” jester looked her in the eye when she said it. 

“cool. okay. let's go.” beau looked at the spot behind jester’s left horn. 

beau made a step back, and another, and again, and jester followed; beau stopped, next to the bed, unsure for her own reasons of doing so, and jester, with a semi-wicked, semi-sweet smile, pushed her onto the bed.  _ now  _ beau was guessing her reasons for stopping. smile uncontained on her face, beau moved up the bed, keeping herself upright by the elbows - she had several seconds before the guilt kicked in, to imagine an alternative reality where this scenario would not be uncommon for them: beau, naked, on the bed, jester, excited, about to join her. 

jester sat next to her on the bed, her knees touching beau’s side. she continued working. jester’s hair and the hairs of the brush took turns in tickling beau’s skin, and it was only the bare maximum she could do of restraining herself before jester put her hand of her face again, smiling. 

-

“im almost done!” she moved closer to beau’s legs, “just a couple of touches here,” she put the brush on the middle of her stomach but before she drew any lines, she changed her position, again and again, until jester decided to sit on beau’s leg, one leg on the outside, one trapped between beau’s; beau was happy to be that cage. 

she closed her eyes, and saw darkness. she focused on that.

-

“beau. are you moving on purpose?” tone somewhat accusatory, jester was still not done, judging by the fact that she was still straddling beau’s leg and drawing light swirls on her ribs. 

“no! it’s just - it really tickles, okay?”

jester’s smile told beau that the question was not the one she actually needed to hear an answer to, as she slowly, almost unnoticeably, brought her fingers to beau’s ribs (for the umpteenth time today), brush slipping away, and started tickling her - very lightly, not to destroy the fresh painting probably, or maybe with a goal to tease. 

beau knew a fight when one started, and so she fought: reaching for her hands, to grab them, to stop them, (to hold them), she had to wriggle, to kick, to slither underneath jester. the fight was not a dirty one per se, although it did leave traces of wet paint, sticking everywhere and smearing everything, and they were mostly holding each other, changing positions and pushing, never breaking contact.

beau, strong though she was, had a weak spot. she freed one hand to boop jester’s nose with a finger covered in dark blue paint - jester nearly fell from the loss of contact but caught herself, leaning on her arm, next to beau’s face - , beau’s hand brushed her cheek, leaving traces, and came to her shoulder, staying there. openness running loose, she looked at jester, who was already looking back, and smiled. beau really wanted to kiss her, she tried her best not to look down at jesters lips - she was pretty sure she succeeded. 

“so, how did you plan on showing me the painting?”

-

beau stood up, really tempted to look down but not wanting to ruin the surprise - mostly for jester’s sake; so, she looked at the ceiling. jester tugged her by the hand to the middle of the room, not far from when they danced some moments ago. on their way, she covered beau’s eyes with her hands (beau would not look anyway, and she was almost certain jester knew that), and pulled a bit, motioning for them to stop. 

“okay, wait. and keep your eyes closed!”

beau stood, eyes shut, seemingly alone in the room. she heard jester coming back, setting something on the floor, and humming.

“when can i open my eyes?” beau was smiling, swaying to and fro.

“one second.” a second went by, then two. “now!” 

several things happened at the same time: beau opened her eyes, jester took a grey cloth off from a long mirror; beau looked at her reflection; jester looked at her, expectantly. 

the painting on her body was made of various shades of blue: a gentle storm - waves crashing into the sky, ocean swirling with chaos, stars in the blue expanse.where her moles are, there were illuminated by soft yellow paint, making them almost shine; they were connected in improvised constellations. beau’s eyes found a small lighthouse, its light spreading from beau’s chest, awfully close to her heart. she wondered briefly if it meant something. 

“do you like it?” jester sounded a little nervous. 

“i love it, jes!” she turned around, and saw a similar image on her back, except it was only the sea, the sky, and the stars. she looked her in the eye, smiling, “gods. it’s beautiful.”

she was already sad she would have to wash it away sometime. 

“thank you, jes.”

jester came to her, standing by her side, and shoved her a bit with her shoulder. they looked at their reflections, smiling, and blue.

“im glad you like it.”

she did. she really did. 


End file.
